


The Light And The Obstacle That Casts It

by likecherrywine



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Danger Days AU, F/F, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Rating May Change, if i switch repeatedly between tenses thats between me and god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24931600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecherrywine/pseuds/likecherrywine
Summary: It all occurred because of a minuscule mistake, a mix-up in the guard shifts, proving that Better Living Industries, as much as they loathed to admit it, was a corporation that consisted of human beings who were prone to making mistakes. This mistake was worsened by a string of very lucky, coincidental events that people in the slums of the city would call ‘providence’ only because they were aware of how much BLi hated the word and all it implied. BLi despised anything that insinuated luck or coincidence, or some higher power working influence over mortal events. Regardless of their feelings on the matter, BLi had not completely figured out how to stamp out the human spirit and their flaws.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 4





	The Light And The Obstacle That Casts It

**Author's Note:**

> This is extremely self-indulgent.  
> A fair amount of knowledge of MCR's Danger Days Universe is probably needed to understand what's going on.  
> So linked at the bottom is some basic information about the world.

Prisoner 46861, or Émile Grantaire, as he had recently earned the right to be referred to as, awoke to something akin to hope. If he had remembered correctly, today would be the day he would be moving from the correctional facility to the rehabilitation facility, which would be the final step to his reintegration into society. 

He follows his daily routine; making the bed up, and changing into the standard uniform. He did however pause when he noticed the white wall opposite of his bed. It appeared to have a fresher coat of paint than the other walls of the room. The white was a shade brighter than the other three, and Prisoner 46861 would know, as he spent a lot of his time staring at the walls. 

It bothers him slightly, because he felt he should know why that one particular wall had been recently painted. But his mind provided no answers, and it didn’t really matter anyways. He was fully distracted from this thought by the door to his room opening, revealing, as expected, Dr. Clarke wheeling in the cart full of medication and needles. 

“Good morning, Émile Grantaire”, she greets pulling her perfectly applied lipstick mouth upward, and flashing perfectly white teeth. 

“Good morning”, he answers back dutifully. 

Dr. Clarke has been his primary care doctor for all of his time here in the correctional facility, around three years, as he has been told, a fact that he feels mild shame for. The average time a patient spends being corrected spans four to six months. Dr. Clarke gets straight to work, signalling for him to roll up his sleeve, and plunges the needle into the vein of his arm. 

“Are you pleased to be moving to the rehabilitation center today”? Dr. Clarke does not usually engage in small talk, but perhaps she is making an exception because it is his last day. 

“Of course”, Grantaire responds, “I am looking forward to finally being able to re-integrate into Battery City and begin contributing to society once more”. 

Dr. Clarke does not exactly smile, but Grantaire can tell that she is pleased. She extracts the needle, and writes something down on her clipboard. She then brings him the paper cups of water and pills and watches as he carefully swallows them down. 

“Good. My team and I will be back shortly to begin your relocation”. 

She’s gone with a ‘click’ of the door and Grantaire is left alone. He doesn’t feel loneliness, not anymore, it’s not a constructive feeling, but he feels the absence of Dr. Clarke like a dull ache. He closes his eyes and does the breathing exercises he was recommended, letting his non-productive emotions fade into oblivion. The few seconds after taking his medication, he’s prone to feeling dizzy and frightened. He’s been told over and over that he has some aversion to the medication due to a specific enzyme in his blood. After many modifications to the medication, Prisoner 46861 has learned to stop mentioning the side effects, after all he has learned to overcome the brief fits of dizziness and nausea. He’s being sent to the rehabilitation center today, he can’t show signs of regression, or else they might keep him here longer. By the time Dr. Clark and her team returns, the pills’ effects have fully sunk in, and Grantaire is sinking in the comforting wave of numbness. He doesn’t remember the thoughts that were troubling him earlier.

They take his height and weight, and shine lights into his eyes- the standard daily procedures. Dr. Clarke scribbles more things into her clipboard. 

“Name” a younger woman asks in a clipped tone, she’s on Dr. Clarke’s medical team, but Grantaire can’t remember her name. 

“Emile Grantaire”.

“ID number”?

“46861” Grantaire recites.

“And your crime”? 

Grantaire’s blood runs cold, thrumming with an unanswered question, his breathing is erratic. 

“State your crime Emile Grantaire”, the woman repeats. Dr. Clarke’s eyes are sharp behind her glasses when he glances over at her. 

He clears his head. “I was convicted on charges of vandalizing private property, aiding and abetting an insurrection, and conspiring with the terrorist denomination of The Killjoys who operate outside of Battery City’s borders”. He’s repeated it so much, it’s a meaningless mantra. The Grantaire involved in those violent crimes is long gone. 

Dr. Clarke gives him a curt nod. “And do you regret your past actions and dedicate the future of your life to the betterment of Battery City and it’s citizens”?

Grantaire nods fervently. “Yes. I am ashamed of my acts of treason towards Battery City and Better Living Industries. I am grateful for the benevolence of Better Living Industries for giving me a second chance to prove myself a necessary citizen of Battery City and work towards its continued betterment”. 

Satisfied, Dr. Clarke makes one last note on her clipboard. The click of her pen as she closes it feels like a finality. “Good. Now if you may follow us, we will begin your transportation”. 

Stepping foot outside of his room, Grantaire is once again startled by how symmetric the hallway is. For the past year he has been living in the Correctional Facility Wing of the Better Living Industries Building. Before that, Grantaire isn’t exactly sure where he was being kept, except that it was somewhere in the heart of the building. Stretching as far as the eye can see, are identical doors, housing more inmates. He follows Dr. Clarke and her assistants down the hallway, the sharp ‘clack’ of her heels on the linoleum floors the only other sound. 

They pass the exit doors, and Grantaire feels something fluttering in his chest. He hasn’t been outside the doors in the correctional facility save for the monthly, hour long session spent outside, getting the nutrients provided by the sun that BLi could not yet correctly and efficiently replicate. Without the sharp, glaring lights, it’s easier to breathe. 

This area of BLi is more open, and sports the occasional window. Grantaire cranes his neck but all he can see is the smog-filled air. They’re turning a corner into another hallway when it happens. 

At the other end of the long hallway, a group of Draculoids are escorting a prisoner. Dr. Clarke stiffens. Grantaire does too. He has had little interaction with the other people in the facility, but only those who are on the same level of recovery as he is. Whoever the draculoids are bringing in is clearly just beginning their recovery. 

“What are they doing here, they’re not supposed to be here”, a man on Dr. Clarke’s medical team hisses to her. 

“Remove the patient immediately”, Dr. Clarke instructs, but it’s too late. 

The figure at the end of the hall is close enough that Grantaire can see that they are struggling. He can’t help the gasp he lets out. Because the prisoner is clearly a Killjoy. 

The Killjoy has lurid pink hair, knotted up in a bun at the top of their head. The colors they are sporting are the most shocking aspect of their appearance. Grantaire, who is used to neat and practical monochromatic clothing, stares at the lilac pants, neon green shirt and orange jacket. They have blood on their face stemming from a cut on their forehead. Grantaire subconsciously shifts closer to Dr. Clarke. Terrorist his brain whispers. 

“Shit”, Dr. Clarke hisses, softly, but with venom. Grantaire blanches. He’s never heard Dr. Clarke, or any other BLi employee curse.  
The Killjoy has now locked his gaze on Grantaire. Their eyes are glazed over but furious and insistent. Then, something like horrifying clarity washes over them. 

“R”? They say. 

Grantaire freezes, the air sucked from his lungs. Dr. Clarke springs into action, grabbing Grantaire by the elbow and dragging him over to a small room in the hallway. Before the door is closed behind him, Grantaire can see the Draculoids make a sharp left and drag the killjoy along with them. If they aren’t taking them to the correctional facility, where are they taking them?

Dr. Clarke’s calm composure seems to be under threat of collapse. She converses with her colleagues in hushed, frantic tones. Grantaire busies himself with studying the room they had shoved him in to distract himself from the thundering of his heart. He presses his thumb and forefinger together hard enough that he can feel his pulse. That Killjoy had looked at him, almost like they had recognized him and called him ‘R’...

“Prisoner 4861” Dr. Clarke snaps. Her two colleagues have left the room. 

“Did you recognize that individual”

“N-no”. 

Dr. Clarke narrows her eyes like she doesn’t believe him, then in a blink of an eye, almost like he imagined it, she takes a deep breath and changes tactics. 

“As you are most likely aware, that individual is a member of the dangerous terrorist denomination of The Killjoys. Our S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W. units found him in the outskirts of Battery City, in the middle of planning some sort of attack. Luckily our units were able to disarm him and bring him into custody where we will begin his process of re-integrating back into society. We never meant for the both of you to cross paths, and I can imagine it must have been a disconcerting experience for you. However, we will need to observe whether or not this trigger will be a set back to your recovery process”. 

“It’s not. It won’t be”, Grantaire assures her, trying to hide the desperation in his voice. Dr. Clarke passively raises a perfect eyebrow. “I am ready to move onto the next step of my recovery. Seeing a Killjoy will not interfere with my recovery, because I know that they are a misguided member of society that Better Living will ensure will be repaired”. 

Dr. Clarke looks pleased. “Very well, Emile. Remain here, I will be back with my team shortly after reporting this event to my superiors”. 

Grantaire barely waits until the door is shut to collapse to the floor, his breath coming in short, heaving gasps. He tries desperately to control his breathing before Dr. Clark or anyone else comes back in, but adrenaline is coursing through his veins, synapses firing. He can’t get the image of the Killjoy out of his head and everything in his body is screaming to run, get away, as fast as you can. Distantly, he hears heels clacking on the floor, and digs his fingernails into the flesh of his palms as hard as he can without drawing blood. He forces himself to get to his feet, and school his expression into a neutral one. 

Dr. Clarke returns with two small cups, which Grantaire knows automatically that they contain his pills. He shrinks back slightly, he only takes his pills twice per day; morning and evening. And it can only be afternoon at the latest. Behind Dr. Clarke, her assistants are carrying a tray full of needles. 

Pure fear spikes in his chest, seizing up his heart. The fear is so encapsulating that he can’t even reason with himself. BLi knows what they are doing. BLi is here to take care of him and help him with his recovery. 

Dr. Clarke’s eyes are cold as ice as she extends the cup towards him, the pills rattling menacingly at the bottom. 

“W-what is this”? he manages. 

“My superiors suggested that we administer a calming agent to you. For the trauma you experienced earlier”.

Grantaire relaxes by a fraction. It makes sense, he reminds himself, but the frantic hammering in his chest does not ease up. 

He swallows the pills down quickly, and allows Dr. Clarke to inject him with the needle. Soon, he doesn’t feel anything other than a pleasant haze. 

…

The rehabilitation center, he quickly realizes, is different from BLi’s correctional facility. For one, while associated with Better Living Industry, the building is not located within the corporation’s headquarters, but in Sector Two of the city, Battery City’s industrial hub. The rehabilitation center isn’t staffed by BLi doctors and scientists, but rather nurses employed by BLi and instead of a unit of Draculoids, there are droids who help keep order. His living quarters are also not completely stark and empty. The bed is bigger, and softer, and there is an adjoined bathroom, including a shower. The bathroom also has a mirror. Grantaire hasn’t seen his reflection at all during his time in BLi, so it was very disconcerting to say the least to suddenly come face to face with himself. 

He stands in front of the mirror for a long time, taking in his short cropped hair and the dark circles under his eyes. There are tiny holes in his earlobes, eyebrow, and at the bottom of his lip. He runs a finger over them, wondering. Upon further examination, there are identical scars on either side of his temples, silvery and circular. Strange. 

Another difference is that he now only takes his pills once a day, in the morning, like the rest of Battery City citizens. In the rehabilitation center, he is allowed to interact with the other people residing alongside him. They eat their meals together, another new experience for Grantaire, who was surviving on nutrition supplement pills. They also have allotted free time during the day, where they are instructed to spend time doing something productive after completing their civic duties for the day. 

The nurses allow him the day of his arrival to get accustomed to the place and then the next day they’re waking him up early and escorting him to the office of a stern and severe man named Javert, for a meeting. Judging by the way all of the nurses and droids seem to report to him, and Javert’s stern yet neutral face, the pinnacle of BLi patented composure, Grantaire quickly gathers that he is in charge of the rehabilitation center.

Javert stares at him over an open file sheet, Grantaire’s file sheet, he guesses. Face to face with the man, Grantaire has the inkling sensation of recognition. He racks his brain, and then it clicks in place. Javert is, or was, rather, an Inspector for BLi’s S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W. unit, second in power only to the Exterminators. 

Javert curls his lip, and sets down the file. “Emile Grantaire”, he begins, “We are well acquainted, even if you might not remember. Your files tell me that you have a mild to moderate case of amnesia”. 

Grantaire doesn’t realize that Javert is waiting for a response until he doesn't continue speaking. 

“Yes, I mean, that is correct”. Grantaire doesn’t think that Dr. Clarke had ever told him of his diagnosis, but it makes sense.

Javert makes a quick note. “I have been reviewing the briefing that my colleague Dr. Clarke has sent me regarding your time under her care. She seems convinced that you are prepared for the next step in rehabilitation, however I am skeptical due to your aversion to treatment during the first year of care”. 

Under Javert’s cold eyes, Grantaire wilts a little, but still finds it in him to defend himself. “Dr. Clarke and the other doctors told me that I have a special enzyme in my blood that interfered with the medication they were giving me. Once they altered the medication it began to work for me”. 

“That is all well and good, however the first year of treatment is very indicative of how permanent the effects of the treatment will be in the long run. That is why you will be under close examination for the first few months of your stay and you will work closely with a counselor to ensure your treatment is functioning as it should be”. 

“I do not know how much the nurses told you about how this place operates”, Javert continues, “But it is very straightforward. You are here to become a functioning member of society, but in order to do so, you must first repay your debt to society. And you Mr. Grantaire, have a large doubt to pay off”. Javert closes Grantaire’s file. “Vandalism and insurrection are not crimes that are taken lightly. You will receive a schedule outlining the civic duties you must partake in, and you will receive word from your counselor soon”. 

For the majority, the civic duties Grantaire is tasked with is tending to the city garden. In the morning, a bus arrives to take him and a small group of others to the Battery City Community Garden in Sector Three. It is a small patch of land, nestled up to the wall enclosing Battery City which grows an assortment of vegetables. They work in shifts, weeding and tilling while being overseen by some droids. The vegetables they pick are then distributed to grocery stores by BLi. Working in the garden makes Grantaire realize that he has never questioned where food came from in Battery City. Obviously fresh produce came from the gardens, but other products like grain seemingly were imported from nowhere given how isolated Battery City was. Maybe it was a fact that he had forgotten due to his amnesia. 

His assigned advisor is a woman, no older than him, named Floreal, whose eyes seem to cut right through him when they first meet. She asks him the standard questions; how is he adjusting? How is he getting along with the other inhabitants? Despite Floreal seemingly being the model BLi employee, composed and impersonal, there is something familiar about her. It’s like an itch in the back of Grantaire’s mind, the knowledge that some key piece of information is missing. He can’t explain it, but he knows her, the particular way she frowns when concentrating, the slight restlessness in her fingers whenever she holds a pen. He doesn’t dare voice this to anyone, and if Floreal is a figure from his murky, criminal past, Grantaire isn’t sure how much importance it has on his life now, if any. The person that he once was can’t exist in society, and that Grantaire is virtually null. 

He quickly adjusts to the routine. He wakes up, takes his pills under the watchful supervision of the nurses, has breakfast with the other inhabitants, takes the bus to whatever civic task he is assigned that day, either working in the garden in Sector Three or reconstruction in the slums of the city, where the residents are wild and unkempt and are unable to be properly controlled and monitored by BLi. 

Floreal asks him specifically about the slums, in a way that betrays hidden curiosity. He tells her about how they had to have a unit of Draculoids supervising them because if they brought droids they would most likely be kidnapped and taken to The Lobby, but overall, other than some teenagers throwing bottles at the Draculoids they had a productive day. 

Floreal nods, brows furrowed. “Did the slums have any sort of impact on you? Anything at all?”

Grantaire hesitates because Floreal isn’t even pretending to be taking notes in his file. She is asking about this because she is personally curious. Which is dangerous behaviour. A BLi employee that operates for their own personal gain is dangerous and betrays the goal of the corporation. 

“BLi works for the people of Battery City to ensure their safety, well being, and continued existence”, Dr. Clarke had explained to him once, “Personal motivations have no place here, and are dangerous. Personal motivations are a dangerous aspect of human nature”. 

It’s treason against Battery City and BLi. A part of Grantaire, the part that sounds most like Dr. Clarke, knows that he should report her to a nurse or Javert, but another part of him finds it slightly thrilling. 

“Not specifically”, Grantaire evades, not quite able to meet Floreal’s eyes. She lets him go, and he doesn’t mention to anyone his dreams of barefoot children with large eyes, and the groups of teenagers armed with switchblades and broken bottles and their anger, and the Draculoids units, patrolling the slums, keeping the peace, but being far more threatening than anything else with their soulless masks.  
...  
The glaring heat beating down on the garden patch worsens the headache blooming behind Grantaire’s eyes. By the time the lunch break finally rolls around, he feels weak and shaky and goes over to sit against the shade in the wall rather than with the rest of the workers. 

He cracks an eye open against the glare of the sun when he hears footsteps drawing near. It’s one of the droids, a Battery City standard type, monochromatic where slum droids and pornodroids are colorful. Still, Grantaire thinks that he recognizes this particular droid, with chin length white hair. They’re one of Floreal’s friends, Grantaire has seen the two conversing before

“Hey”, he calls out.

The droid startles, and puts down the crate they were carrying. Some rope spills out and the droid quickly puts it back in the box. 

“Hello”, they greet back. 

Grantaire frowns as he sees more droids transporting boxes into the trucks while the rest of the rehab workers eat lunch. 

“Are you still working? Don’t you get a break when we do”? 

The droid shifts back and forth, looking around nervously. “Our batteries last all day, so it’s not necessary for us to rest. We recharge after all the work for the day is done”. 

“Oh”. Grantaire struggles to identify his thoughts and feelings. They aren’t clear cut like they usually are. They’re complex in a way that they haven’t been for a long time. 

“I’ve never noticed that you work throughout our lunch break”. 

The droid nods. “You aren’t meant to notice”, they say kindly. 

Despite being meant as comfort, it feels chilling. “That’s not… it’s not right”. He settles on. “It’s not right”. 

The droid nods and glances over their shoulder, but nobody is watching them. “How is your headache”

Grantaire grimaces. “Not completely terrible”. 

The droid cracks a small smile. “I need to get back to work”. They pick up the crate again. 

“Wait”, He’s not sure what makes him ask,but he does anyway “What’s your name”? 

The droid stills, and he feels like he’s made a grave mistake, before they smile and whisper, “Call me Green”. 

Later, Grantaire realizes that he never told Green about his headache. 

By dinnertime, the headache has only gotten worse, his vision and head both swimming. The mood in the mess hall is strange. It seems like everyone is anxiously waiting for something to happen. The nurses are talking amongst themselves looking worried, there are rumors being whispered between the inmates that Javert was seen leaving the rehabilitation center with a S.C.A.R.E.C.R.O.W Exterminator. Floreal and Green are in deep conversation with each other near the doors. When Floreal meets his eyes over the mess hall tables, Grantaire looks away. 

He’s barely surprised when someone knocks at his door an hour after curfew. “Hello, Grantaire”, Floreal says. “We need to take you to the medical clinic for a follow up on your vitals from this morning. We only need to run a few tests”. 

Grantaire follows Floreal through the linoleum floors and fluorescent lights. The hallway is silent, no sound of life anywhere. Floreal moves like a ghost, trading the heels she always wore for quieter shoes. Inside the medical bay, all of the lights are off. Grantaire squints in the darkness and sees Green standing still, waiting. 

“Where are you really taking me”. 

Floreal looks at Green, then back to him. Her face looks completely different without its neutral mask. Floreal looks nothing like a BLi employee and Grantaire can’t imagine how he ever took her for one.

“Grantaire…” she starts. 

“We don’t have time”, Green interrupts, “BLi is distracted dealing with The Killjoys, but we have to act quickly. I’ll take him from here Floreal”. 

Grantaire’s head is swimming. Killjoys? In Battery City?

“I’ll scream”, he warns, “I’ll scream and BLi will come and see what you’re trying to do”. 

“The walls are soundproof”, Floreal says, but she looks worried. She turns back to Green “I’m coming too”. 

“What? Floreal, that wasn’t part of the plan”. 

“What’s going on”, Grantaire demands. 

“I’m keeping good on our promise, R”, Floreal smiles. “I know that you are confused and don’t know what is going on, but we really don’t have time. If we had known that The Killjoys were coming tonight, I would have weaned you off your pills much sooner, but right now, you have to trust me”. 

Grantaire opens his mouth, and he doesn’t know if it’s to argue, or demand answers, but a siren goes off, somewhere in the building. He makes the split second decision to trust her. Floreal mutters an emphatic “Fuck”, and then she’s grabbing Grantaire’s wrist and tugging him towards the emergency exit which leads outside the building. 

The calm, inky black sky and the dim stars are a contrast against the absurdity of the situation. Floreal and Green move quickly, pulling them off the streets and into the shadows. They stop at the mouth of a sewer, and Floreal gets to work unsealing the grate. 

“What the hell”, Grantaire mutters, but Floreal is already tugging him down with her. There’s a set of rickety metal stairs leading down into the gaping darkness below. Grantaire holds his breath, and does his best to move quickly in the dark, his headache still pulsing pain into his head. He jumps the rest of the way down. Floreal is reaching into her pocket to reveal a lighter. 

“Are you retiring”? Green asks Floreal, after they jump down. 

“I’ve talked to Valjean about it, and I’ll still be working with you, just from the other side of the city”. 

Green sighs. “This seems like a rash decision”. 

Floreal shrugs. “Probably, but I’ve been thinking it over the past few weeks”, she looks over at Grantaire, “You know how I only took this job for him”. 

Uncomfortable being referred to fondly by someone he doesn’t even know, Grantaire asks, “Did you know me before my arrest?”

Floreal gives him a lopsided smile. “Yes, but you already figured that out, didn’t you”. 

“I don’t remember you”. 

“That’s fine, you’ll have plenty of time to get to know me again”. 

“Where are you taking me”? Grantaire asks, the absurdity of the situation fading a bit allowing the knowledge that he is letting a random woman and a droid lead him through an underground tunnel away from BLi. 

“Away. Out of the city”. 

Grantaire stops at this, panic rising in his throat. “No. You can’t. BLi is taking care of me, I’ve almost been rehabilitated. I’m going to become a valuable member of society again”. 

“That’s what they want”, Green says sadly. “They’ve tried to mold you into the perfect citizen using their pills and manipulation and torture!” 

“That...isn’t true”, Grantaire stammers, but they’re words sink vice-like into his brain. He remembers, or rather doesn’t, of large blank spaces in his memories, meetings with BLi doctors, the severe hallways of the correctional facility, the blank faced nurses who carefully monitored him taking his pills. He thinks about his conversation with Green, about the way droids are treated. 

“We need to keep moving”, Floreal hisses, and grabs his wrist and continues at a jog. 

They continue stumbling down the dark sewer, which Grantaire slowly realizes is an elaborate cave system, man- made by the looks of it. 

They come to a stop in front of another set of metal stairs, leading out to another sewer grate. 

“Is the ladder all set”? Floreal asks Green, who nods in affirmation. 

“I’ll miss you”, they say. 

Even in the dark, Grantaire doesn’t miss the way Floreal’s face crumbles. “I’ll miss you too. Give Valjean and Azelma and everyone all my love”. The two hug tightly. “We’ll be in contact”, Floreal says, already climbing up the ladder. 

Grantaire hesitates, one hand on the rail. Green gives him a small smile and places a hand on his arm. “May Destroya be with you”. 

They resurface in a dark alleyway in The Slums. 

“Why didn’t Green come with us”? he whispers to Floreal as she quietly replaces the sewer grate. 

Floreal glares at him. “There’s a curfew in place so don’t make any noise”, she straightens up, and motions for Grantaire to follow her. “Droids can’t step foot out of Battery City, their routers will combust”. 

There are sirens in the distance, getting closer. Floreal swears softly and begins to make her way down the alley. 

“Are those Draculoids? Are they after us”? 

“Exterminators. They’re after something big, probably the Killjoys”, Floreal replies.

“There’s killjoys in Battery City right now”?

“Earlier today I received word of a group of killjoys that were conducting a raid of BLi to rescue a killjoy taken into custody. I used the distraction to extract you, but I guess they haven’t bought us enough time”. 

They reach the mouth of the alley, only to find a unit of Draculoids sweeping the area. It’s the construction site, Grantaire realizes, the one he had been working on. 

Floreal sets her face. 

“You see the construction site?”, she points to the in-progress housing complex. “Listen carefully. If Green is right, and they always are, there should be a rope ladder hidden behind that tarp. You should be able to climb over the wall. You’re going to have to jump over the side, but don’t worry you’ll land in sand, or some shrubs. Follow the highway, you can go anywhere in the desert if you follow Route Guano. It’ll lead you to Zone One, there’s a sign, it’s hard to miss. Find Lark, she and her crew should be stationed there. Tell her to take you to a Neutral Zone. Or to Apollo. I’ll distract the Draculoids, so you have to be quick”. 

Grantaire’s mind is spinning. He hasn’t registered Floreal’s words and is at a loss for what half of them mean. 

“You’re going to follow me, right”?

Floreal draws a knife from her pocket., “You gotta be quick, R”. She smiles again, something sad, and then she’s charging towards the Draculoids. Grantaire scrambles towards the construction site Floreal pointed out, finding a dirty, ratty rope ladder looking like it was made out of old laundry. He doubts it will hold, but regardless, he starts pulling himself up anyways. He’s at the top of the wall when he turns to look for Floreal, who is dodging the Draculoids and occasionally slashing her knife in the air around them. 

Grantaire sees the ray gun before she does and he only has time to make an aborted sound before it goes off, hitting Floreal right in the chest. They make eye contact for one last, fleeting moment, Floreal mouths “Run”, her eyes impossibly wide, before she collapses to the ground like a ragdoll. 

Grantaire is frozen on the wall in horror, staring as the Draculoids drag Floreal’s body away. He doesn’t see the other Draculoid aim their ray gun at him, until he registers a searing pain in his shoulder. The Draculoid aims again, and the blast narrowly misses his head. Grantaire topples over the way. He scrambles onto his feet after hitting the sand below. He’s now a fugitive of Battery City. Grantaire runs.

**Author's Note:**

> https://danger-days.fandom.com/wiki/Danger_Days_Wiki


End file.
